Local woman, Anne Shuttlecock, the long suffering wife of local idiot, Martin Shuttlecock, today went seven shades of homicidal as she renewed her passport at the Titchfield West post office.

"That bitch at the post office rejected the photographs I brought along with my application," a seething Anne snarled. "Because they were taken more than a month ago. So I had to go to a camera shop to get a set of new ones. The trouble with that was, that as it's the height of summer here in the UK, it's lashing it down and blowing a gale. There was no way on earth I was going to look my best."

The intrepid Anne dutifully marched through the summer storm, lashed by wind and rain, despite brandishing a twelve foot diameter umbrella, and presented before the photographer looking a little windswept, dampened, and not generally in the best of moods.

The photographer then proceeded to take a series of facial photographs of the by now clearly disgruntled Anne, charging her seven GBP for the privelege.

"That should be okay!" the photographer chirped on completion, as he trousered his seven pounds.

Alas, all was not okay. In fact, things were far from okay, and the situation was further exacerbated when the girl at the post office, upon receipt of the photographs, said something along the lines of:

"That's better! These will do just fine!"

"How I didn't punch the bitch in the face I shall never know!" Anne fumed furiously. "Those pictures were a travesty of my usual self. All they needed was a row of numbers under me chin and they'd have made a convincing set of mugshots of a wanted psychopath. I've really got the hump now! I want to go out and kill somebody!"